


Ronald Weasley's Matchmaking Services Inc., or, The Red-headed Cupid

by TheTitaniumSerpent



Series: TitaniumSerpent's SSHG One-Shots [15]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Bad Humor, Bad Matchmaking, Don't copy to another site, F/M, Hagrid's diarrhoea is its own warning, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Post-Hogwarts, Post-War, SSHG - Freeform, ron is a good friend, snamione
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-21
Updated: 2020-03-21
Packaged: 2021-03-01 04:09:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,293
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23249011
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheTitaniumSerpent/pseuds/TheTitaniumSerpent
Summary: Ronald Weasley attempts matchmaking. Perhaps he'd have better luck in a matchbox factory? One-shot.
Relationships: Hermione Granger/Severus Snape
Series: TitaniumSerpent's SSHG One-Shots [15]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1457368
Comments: 11
Kudos: 125





	Ronald Weasley's Matchmaking Services Inc., or, The Red-headed Cupid

**Author's Note:**

> Not my world, not my characters, not my spells and not my money either (damn!). Beta-read by two wonderful and amazing experts, Sweet Trufflepuff and Sorasrardust, because and English isn't my first language. If there are any mistakes left, they're entirely my fault because I always keep making changes.
> 
> (I published this earlier in Finnish. This is the English version).

Ronald Weasley had always loved Hermione Granger, or it felt that way sometimes. When he was really, really being honest with himself, he’d loved her like a sister since they’d met aboard the Hogwarts Express, and the less-than-sisterly affection only began during the Yule Ball in their fourth year when she walked into the Great hall on the arm of Viktor Krum, out of all people, and looked utterly radiant in her periwinkle dress robes, with her sleek hair and clever brown eyes and newly-evened out teeth. Now, a year and a half after the end of the war and dating Hermione, he found his feelings returning back to brotherly affection. There were many reasons, of course, but sharing a home before they married had revealed the downsides of marriage before they tied the knot. Ron’s mum had fought tooth and nail against such an arrangement, but Hermione was a modern witch and Ron had agreed with her and moved into her newly-rented flat in one of the buildings off Diagon Alley, above a shop, after she finished her N.E.W.T.s. 

Now he looked upon that decision with relief. Life with Hermione was definitely not the harmonious and pleasantly relaxing time he’d have hoped. He’d always known how obsessed Hermione could be when it came to her books, studies and ambitions, but the nagging was an unpleasant thing to encounter after a stressful day in Auror training. There were spells and charms for household chores, but Molly had always taken care of everything at home. Hermione was starting her career in the Ministry and expected Ron to participate, while Ron was used to lack of space and an abundance of clutter and was used to cleaning his room when moving about became too difficult. Hermione nagged constantly about leaving dishes on the table or countertop or random dirty socks found on, under and behind the sofa. She was not a good cook, and she could easily either forget to cook because her new book was just too interesting. The food could be completely raw because she forgot how long to cook it, or charred to almost black coal on many occasions because she simply forgot she was supposed to be cooking and lost herself in a book. She sang in the shower and sounded like someone strangling an angry Kneazle. And speaking of Kneazles, or half-Kneazles really, Hermione’s cat Crookshanks tore up his broom kit, smeared broom-polish all over the floor, and once sharpened his claws to his brand-new broom which he’d forgotten on the floor. That one caused a bad fight. All things considered, Ron began to regret moving in with Hermione and began to reconsider their relationship. Of course, he loved her, but he loved her like a sister and a relationship would never work. In the end, they had very little in common.

Mum’s wedding frenzy was the final straw. Harry and Ginny were planning their wedding, and mum hoped he’d tie a knot with Hermione to “make an honest witch out of her” since they’d shared a bed for months. Molly’s suggestions for a wedding date on the same day when Hermione started a new project at work and managed to burn and char a bowl of soup were just too much (not to mention Hermione’s disastrous attempt for spuds and brown sauce the day before). Ron shrunk all his possessions to fit into a shoebox, took his broom and moved back to Burrow, though it almost certainly nearly crushed poor Hermione and earned Ron a good walloping from Molly Weasley. He dearly hoped they’d be able to salvage their friendship because he dearly loved Hermione and wanted to see her happy. 

Ignoring his mother’s pleas to return to Hermione and beg, Ron began to devise a plan to make his best friend happy. Hermione needed a proper relationship or she’d just bury herself to her work. Someone who’d make her happy, since he’d never be able to do it in the long run. No, Hermione needed someone with whom she could discuss and debate about books and learning, someone who was tidy and not too picky about the food, or perhaps a bloke who was a good cook himself. Someone who’d appreciate her intelligence and wasn’t searching for a vapid tart. Perhaps an older, mature wizard? 

He spotted a good candidate in a meeting of the Order of the Phoenix when he set his eyes on Severus Snape, who sat in a chair in a corner looking sour and glaring at everyone, him and Harry in particular. Snape had survived Nagini’s bite by the skin of his teeth and only because of his own strategy which involved some Phoenix tears from Dumbledore’s old Phoenix, Fawkes, some charmed bandages, Blood-Replenishing Potion, and the old and angry house-elf of the Prince-family, who’d saved his master, though everyone had presumed he’d died. Snape had remarked, his tone arrogant, that he’d been expecting an attack from the snake sooner or later. 

The fiery admiration Harry had felt for Snape had cooled down quickly when the sour Potions master had tossed Harry out of his hospital room without a word. Harry had revealed Snape’s love and admiration towards the late Lily Potter for the whole wizarding world to hear during the battle and then went further and showed his memories to Wizengamot and Ministry officials to clear Snape’s name. Without it, they might have sentenced Snape to Azkaban, but Snape felt his privacy was violated and he wasn’t a forgiving man, especially not after The Daily Prophet published Rita Skeeter’s article about Snape’s “obsession”. Hermione, however, admired Snape, and no longer bore him a grudge about the comment about her teeth, though she’d complained about it for ages. 

Could Snape be what Hermione needed? Could the dour and sullen wizard be the man who made her happy? Any wizard should be glad to have the affections of Hermione, Ron thought, disregarding his personal thoughts about the pains of living with her. Snape was intelligent enough to appreciate her, and getting over Lily Potter shouldn’t be a problem now that the war was over. Ron looked at the wizard sharply to take his measure: yes, his nose was still beaky and huge, hair still greasy, his eyes, which were now aimed directly at Ron were black and sharp and filled with cold contempt and suspicion… and he had about as much sympathy towards a Gryffindor as a starving Dementor, Ron thought and flinched, averting his eyes. But perhaps Hermione could make him mellow a bit? 

Snape certainly looked like he’d missed a meal or six. His robes were tidy and neat, at least his classroom, storeroom and office were in order, and Ron had often seen him in the library looking for some book or another. He’d followed the Slytherin Quidditch matches at Hogwarts but didn’t seem like a great fan of the sport. He was a learned man who probably could appreciate an intelligent witch and wouldn’t be cowed by Hermione’s clever brain. He’d never, ever call her a Mudblood, either, that was for sure. And Harry would probably be relieved if Snape stopped pining after his dead mum, because a bloke certainly didn’t want to think of his mum with Snape. Another Muggleborn could be just what was needed. 

Ron needed a strategy, and strategies were his forte. Clearly the two could make each other happy, and then Ron wouldn’t have to fear Hermione’s canaries and the Oppugno-Jinx. An angry and vengeful Hermione was a dangerous Hermione. He needed to get to work.

Fortunately, it was easy to pop into George’s store. The girl at the counter didn’t recognise him through his disguise. A mild love potion in Hermione’s pumpkin juice while Snape was about would light a passionate flame. Spiking her drink was easy, but unfortunately, Hermione wasn’t thirsty. Then Ginny arrived, tired from a long flight, and snatched Hermione’s glass, gulping it down. Fortunately, her emotions were aimed at Harry, but she harassed him with such vigour that even poor Harry himself was scarlet with embarrassment, and mum was scandalised. Ron suffered through the night, but a true Gryffindor would cry: ‘never give up, never surrender’. 

There was more potion left, so Ron slipped the rest into the punch bowl during a party for the Order after Snape showed up, forcibly dragged in by Headmistress McGonagall. He was alarmed when his parents approached the spiked punch bowl immediately, but before Arthur could take more than a sip, the sharp-eyed Snape snatched his glass, alarmed by the strange colour. Ron had just spiked the darn thing but Snape couldn’t have known that and Ron certainly would never confess. Snape gave them all an antidote just in case. Unfortunately, the blasted antidote caused severe diarrhoea. Ron, who’d been seen with a glass in his hand, emptied his bowels for a long time and decided that Hagrid’s upset stomach was too much for any wizard to take more than once. Potions would have to be abandoned. Luckily, everyone blamed George for the prank, and they were so relieved for any prank from the depressed young man that the case was soon forgotten. 

This was like a game of chess, Ron thought, but instead of just one opponent he faced many, and his two main opponents were both wicked smart and dangerous. Snape might decide to poison Ron if he got caught, and in the worst-case scenario, they’d never find his body. Snape probably didn’t shy away from the Darkest possible spells, either. And Hermione would strangle him. Or there might be canaries, Ron thought with a shiver. 

A week later Ron decided to stage a romantic meeting. He sent them each an anonymous message with hints of romance and admiration if they arrived at the rose garden of Hogwarts at the designated time. Unfortunately, Snape, the suspicious bastard, arrived ten minutes early with his wand drawn in case of an ambush and suspecting an enemy had sent a message to lure him to his demise. Twice as unfortunate was the appearance of the drunk Professor Sybill Trelawney, who was searching for a hidden bottle of sherry from the hedges. Snape blanched at the sight of her, and Ron could scarcely blame him. The thought of an amorous Trelawney was enough to make any man’s nads shrink and crawl towards his throat to get away. Snape fled so fast he might as well have Disapparated, and unfortunately just before Hermione arrived. Ron, who’d stood up from his hideout, got frightened by the clacking of her heels: he fled and ran straight into Trelawney. Their limbs tangled and Ron ended up atop Trelawney, narrowly avoiding the roses, but ended up with one decorating his hair. Trelawney’s feet kicked the air wildly on both sides of Ron’s torso and she gargled something unintelligibly. Hermione, who’d arrived on the scene, took one disgusted look at them, turned on her heels and left. Ron managed to untangle his feet from Trelawney’s scarf and fled, hoping she’d been drunk enough to forget the incident. 

A romantic meal was in order. A good opportunity presented itself when he heard Hermione was doing some research with Snape at Hogwarts on a combination of charms and potions to assist magical creatures with their ailments. The house-elves were all keen to help, swore they’d keep his involvement a secret and delivered a huge candle-lit meal with all the trimmings to Snape’s lab. Later the disgruntled and offended house-elves told him Snape had spent the rest of the evening testing the unordered meal for poisons and other potions, and Hermione had eaten in the Great hall. 

When Christmas approached, Ron helped Harry in his search for the perfect present for Ginny. Perhaps a present would melt Snape’s cold heart, Ron thought, and Hermione liked presents too. He quickly bought a fine book for Snape, a brand-new reprinting of the classic called “Quidditch Throughout the Ages”, wrapped it in handsome red paper, decorated it with a golden bow with a fancy card from Hermione to Snape. It took a lot of funds, and Ron had learned to be frugal, though he now had more money than ever, and so for Hermione, he conjured a bunch of flowers with the Orchideous-incantation. Of course, he ought to have remembered Hermione was viciously allergic to conjured orchids and lilies. Snape certainly had known that, Hermione ranted, because she’d told him just the week before, and Ron kept his mouth firmly shut, lest she hex him for his troubles. Snape’s present wasn’t well-received either, which was a bloody shame. It contained fine photos of Sirius Black, James Potter and Harry doing their best Quidditch moves, and a good interview from Harry. It was a damn sight more useful than the old and musty tomes about unguents and salves. Snape didn’t appreciate the signing card, either. McGonagall told them all he’d roared with rage and hexed the card to pieces. 

Finally, the desperate Ron emptied one of the storage closets at Number 12, Grimmauld Place and lit it with a couple of candles, spreading rose petals on the floor and shelves, ambushed Snape and Hermione and even managed to push them both physically into the cupboard, which locked behind them. Due to a slight miscalculation, one of the candles had tipped over and lit a wall on fire, but Snape was armed: he doused the fire, blasted the door open and then emerged from the cupboard with Hermione, both soot-stained and viciously angry.

Ron could not have predicted this problem, and he hadn’t made his escape yet. Nor had he expected that old house-elf of Snape’s to be on the lookout for a potential murderer and saboteur. The darn thing was like an even grouchier and more aggressive version of old Kreacher. Ron found himself hanging upside down in conjured ropes when the muttering creature dragged him from behind the corner he’d fled to. He felt his face flushing with blood and knew his face was turning unpleasantly red. 

Snape’s face was white with rage, which was pretty severe considering the bloke was usually as white as a vampire. Hermione was clenching her jaws together, her eyes narrowed with rage just like Snape’s, and they both clutched their wands. Snape was… bloody hell, he was bloody well growling. Fortunately, Hermione opened her mouth first.

“Ronald Bilius Weasley!” shrieked Hermione, and the shrill sound made both Snape and Ron flinch as it pierced their eardrums. “You have exactly five seconds to explain this mess and gods help you if this is your idea of revenge…! Five, four…”

“IwastryingtocreateyoutwoaromanticsettingbecauseIthoughtyou’dmakeareally goodcoupleandperhapsyoushoulddate!” Ron replied as fast as he could. 

“What?” asked Hermione.

“What?!” asked Snape simultaneously, though he didn’t look as baffled as Hermione. His face showed no expression, which was good, because Ron wasn’t certain if Snape’s face could hold more than the two usual expressions, namely utter rage and sullen loathing. Or did malicious glee when he caught someone out after curfew, count as third?

“I was trying to create you two a romantic setting because I thought you’d make a really good couple and perhaps you should date!” said Ron, slower.

Now Hermione was utterly flabbergasted. “All these pranks... It was you? You’re the one who did them, don’t you try and deny it, Ron Weasley! Those were your idea of… what, matchmaking?!”

Ron could only nod, hoping the damn house-elf would set him down and loose so he could make his escape and hide. Snape and Hermione were looking at each other now, just a side-eyed glance really, and was that… yes! Snape’s left eyebrow arched, and was it working, was the corner of his mouth rising too, and…?”

Without a warning both Hermione and Snape hexed him, their spells hitting him almost simultaneously and then repeatedly. They took turns. Finally, after they’d apparently gotten enough, they left him hanging from the wall of the corridor, now gagged and bound with his head upwards, thank all deities for that small mercy. His skin was orange, a big set of antlers decorated his head and his voice was squeaky. He saw everything in pink. The canaries hadn’t made an appearance, which made him count himself lucky. And Hermione departed side by side with Snape, and apparently they left the building together, too, which was very promising.

It took two hours for the others to find him. It was George, who first laughed at him, and then called the others to look at him too before they set him loose. He had to go to St. Mungo’s to get the spellwork reversed. The healers found another jinx, probably from Snape, which had written various nasty insults on his skin. When they reversed it, it triggered another charm which made him strip off his hospital gown and prance through the corridors naked while singing out of tune into a sock held in his hand. Someone had a camera and The Daily Prophet did a scoop on that. He was a war hero after all.

Still, it could be considered a job well done, because Snape and Hermione were dangerous adversaries, but they were both apparently satisfied with the outcome and he didn’t have to incur their wrath again when they met. Two weeks after the whole incident the Order found out Snape was dating Hermione. The brand-new relationship caused quite a stir, and Harry, who ought to have been glad, went green in the face and looked quite ill. The whole thing didn’t make Snape any less sour and irascible, but everyone noticed how well he treated Hermione, and Ginny continuously remarked how romantic it was to see how Snape’s eyes softened when he looked at Hermione. Ron preferred not to think what she’d done to make him do that. There were some things best left unthought.

The years would prove him right. Eight months after the Closet-Incident Hermione had a fine new ring (‘It belonged to his grandmother, old Lady Prince!”), two years later Britain had two Snapes, and a third followed less than two years after that. The third Snape was the best Snape, Ron thought, because he was named the boy’s Godfather. It was something that Hermione and Severus (If you call me Sev one more time I shall poison you!) Snape regretted, because the lad declared Ron Weasley his greatest hero, was sorted into Gryffindor and became one of the greatest Quidditch Keepers in history. The article about Ron’s dance at St. Mungo’s was also spotted by Lavender Brown, who’d recovered from the wounds caused by Fenrir Greyback with severe scars on her face and found her wild side, a party animal. She also appreciated ginger pubes, forgave Ron for the mess in their sixth year after some fine grovelling, and in time became another Mrs Weasley. 

Well, history would prove him right, for the Snape marriage was a tender one and lasted until their deaths. They loved and bickered, they laughed and griped, Snape cooked, and Hermione went for some curry when he, too, occasionally picked up a book, forgot he was cooking something and burned the food. But now Hermione was still twenty years old, had decades of marriage and happiness ahead of her, and she smiled at Snape. Snape would have looked intolerably smug, if Ron hadn’t spotted his hand clutching Hermione’s under the table, or Hermione’s hand sneaking up his thigh and on his… ew. Avert eyes! Abort, abort! Strategic retreat to the nearest loo!

‘Oh well, at least they’re happy,’ sighed Ron as he splashed water on his face and returned to the room. ‘Hmmm, check and mate, a game well played,' he thought. ‘I wonder if Neville needs any help’. 


End file.
